


The Self-Destruct Button

by JustARobin05



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Depression, Giovanni Potage has Depression, Graphic Description, Self-Harm, Sorry Giovanni, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustARobin05/pseuds/JustARobin05
Summary: Giovanni doesn't feel much of anything nowadays. There's one thing that he could try but... well, you know, couldn't hurt to try it, right?Well, it would, as Giovanni soon found out.
Relationships: Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Giovanni Potage
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	The Self-Destruct Button

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Arms Hurt.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24224464) by [Dumbassv2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumbassv2/pseuds/Dumbassv2). 



> TRIGGER WARNING: There is graphic descriptions of self-harm in this, along with the emotions one might feel. Please, PLEASE, be careful while reading.

Giovanni hasn’t been feeling his usual upbeat self. He hasn’t for a while now. In fact, “a while” really was an understatement.

He hasn’t felt his usual self for months. Maybe even years.

Today that’s all he can think. He doesn’t feel himself. He doesn’t feel… okay. It’s a strange mantra to have repeated in your head for hours on end. It’s even weirder that he can’t stop thinking that he doesn’t want to be okay. If anything… he wants to be worse.

He can’t remember not thinking this way. He doesn’t know how long he’s felt like this but he was sure that it had been a while. For longer than a month, longer than a year, he’s felt… empty and… uncertain.

A sigh left him. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there in his bed, staring at the patterns on the ceiling. Not that there were any, still, it was good of an excuse as any. 

His head hurt. Not in the typical pounding pain that usually was a headache, this was a different feeling. It was as if his brain was replaced with… something else. Anything. Maybe just the words “I am not okay”, followed up with, “I don’t want to be”. It was unsettling… or it should’ve been. He couldn’t tell if he was used to it or if he just… didn’t care.

Why was he feeling this way? He shouldn’t be. His minions were alright, aside from maybe Molly (he really needed to check up on her more), nothing bad had happened to him. He didn’t deserve to feel this way, there was no reason, he was just being a hindrance this way. 

Thinking that just made him feel worse.

He found himself curling up into a ball, falling on his side and wrapping his gangly arms around his knees, trying to cry. There had been tears in his eyes for a while now but none of them had fallen, no, the water droplets kept in place, even as he blinked as hard as he could.

He looked at them then, his thighs, running a thumb over the plane of skin covered by fabric. He looked at them, he blinked and looked up to his bedroom wall. A dark thought that he hadn’t ever wanted to pay mind to before came and washed out anything good in his mind.

His mothers didn’t notice the last time that he stole a knife, right? They were at work right now. If he was to just sneak downstairs and take one… no one would notice. No one would care. He felt like sobbing but his eyes wouldn’t let him.

Should he?

He waited for a moment. It could have been a second or five minutes, although it felt like the latter. He waited for a sign that said: No, don’t. Of course, he was home alone. 

None came.

It was a heavy task to get himself to stand, even heavier to move his legs and leave his room. He couldn’t keep himself supported correctly, bumping into walls here and there, door frames, draws. Part of him told him to stop doing it and take a hold of himself, of course, the part he was listening to said the opposite. 

It took a while but there he was, in the kitchen. He travelled over to the draw that housed the knives they owned, along with other utensils. He opened it sharply, hitting himself in the hip on accident. He let in a gasp of air, biting his lip. Tears still refused to spill, even as he chose what he was going to use.

It was a small knife, one they had a replica of, so his mothers wouldn’t notice it’s disappearance. A pang hit his heart as his mind reminded him ‘it’s not sharp enough’. He was left with a dark, hollow feeling in his chest after that.

He found the knife sharpener not long after. It was rather large, two slots in it for sharpening the metal blades. He didn’t know the difference between the two, opting to use the one that looked as though it would work. One pass through, two, three. He lightly put his thumb to the blade to test the waters, he didn’t bleed but he could just tell that it was sharp. He let out a small noise to himself, close to a whimper.

He was really going to do this.

The clamber back up the stairs wasn’t as hard as the first one. Despite his plans, he didn’t want to fall and die or lose an eye. He just wanted to feel… something. He wondered in that moment, would it actually work? Just at the top of the stairs, he looked to the thing in his hand. His fist tightened as he went onwards. Wouldn’t hurt to try, right? He couldn’t even laugh at the irony in that statement.

He walked into his room, closing the door behind it. The click had never felt as prominent as before. It was as though the resounding noise of closing the door was a confirmation of what he was going to do. That he was alone. That no one would know and, on top of that, no one would care.

He then walked over to his bed heavy-footed. He pulled down his trousers, only so he could see his own thighs, no further. The knife went in front of his eyes, the blade shining in the light. He didn’t really like that. The knife seemed to be the only thing reacting to anything.

It felt as though he was in control in the sickest way possible. He was doing this to himself. He knew he was and he wasn’t stopping it. 

He pressed the knife to his skin.

He wanted this, right? Of course, otherwise he wouldn’t do it. He just had to-

Giovanni dragged the blade across his thigh.

His brain, then, was forced into a slight panic. It stung but the pain was so, so distant. Blood was starting to come up from the skin in a swell of liquid, he didn’t know what to do. 

He took in another breath. He was feeling something, that was the point, right? 

A small, sad smile overcame his face. He succeeded! Just another accomplished to add to the long list, all focused around the Great Giovanni Potage! A tear finally fell down his cheek. He’d gotten himself to cry, too! An amazing feat! 

It didn’t feel like one, though. He didn’t feel great, he felt like…

For the second time the knife bit into his skin. More blood. Another, another, another. 

He didn’t know why but he couldn’t stop. His thighs were now less a plane of skin and more a plane of red, from a few cuts this is what had happened. He looked to the knife. His own blood looked back. At that moment he threw it to the ground. He didn’t know why he was compelled to but something about it horrified him.

He’d done this to himself.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he could even stand and, despite his long rants about safety, he didn’t know shit about first-aid. 

He knew someone that did.

Then again he couldn’t tell them- he couldn’t tell anyone! What if he wanted to do this again? Tears were ebbing down his face at an alarming rate, panic encircling his mind and every thought contained within. What if he couldn’t live to do it again?

He was starting to feel light-headed, which didn’t help with the panic. He tried to rationalise it, he hadn’t been drinking properly today and sometimes simply feeling pain was cause enough to make him tired.

A Loud, rib shaking, sob left him. His throat was making his voice raspy. He didn't know what to do- even if he did he couldn’t do anything.

Then, from another spot on his bed, his phone rang. He cursed to himself, recognising the theme. Well, less of a theme and more of a vine.

‘I wanna be a yo-yo man! He cried, make me a yo-yo man! But the yo-yo master did not answer, he just kept on yo-ing.’ rung out and made his panic and headache worse. He reached out to it, slapping his hand against the device in hopes of cancelling the call. Although, when you couldn’t see the screen of it, well, that was cause to do the exact opposite.

“SHIT-” The soup-themed villain let out, his voice just as raspy as moments before. His throat hurt. His legs hurt.

He pressed the phone to his ear in time to hear: “Uh- hi… to you… too?” Sylvie replied, Giovanni tried to conceal his sobs but to no avail. “G-Giovanni are you… crying?”

“N-NO! I’m okay kid- I’m,” god, it even felt like he was lying to himself, “I’m good, why are you calling me?”

There was a short pause, “I was checking up on you,” Sylvie seemed to sound calmer then. He was forcing it, right? That’s what everyone did around him. Force the happiness and genuine emotion. They couldn’t trust him. “You don’t- Are you okay?” 

“I-I JUST SAID- I just said that I am,”

“...Giovanni, what happened?”

“I-I,” he couldn’t help but sob. “I can’t-”

“It’s okay, calm down. What’s your address again?”

“Uh- I-I don’t…”

“It’s okay, I’m going to ask Molly. She’ll know, I need you to breath for me, okay? Deep breaths, follow me,” the therapist then went on to do exactly that. It was so over-exaggerated that he could hear it through the phone, Giovanni followed. He didn't know what to do otherwise. 

After a moment he heard the sound of a car turning on, he was familiar with it, after all. “Okay, keep breathing, alright? I’m going to be there soon. I’m sorry to say that I cannot be calling you while driving, so please, try to breathe.”

“Y-you can’t,” he gasped out, his breathing was less ragged, still, it was hard.

“I can’t what, Giovanni?”

“You can’t- You can’t find out,”

“…Find out what, Giovanni?” after a long pause Sylvie sighed, “I’ll be there soon. Please, breathe,” Sylvie hanging up, in fact, had the adverse effect that he was looking for.

He’d find out. He’d know. Giovanni’s breathing worsened once again. There wasn’t much he could do.

It had been no more than five minutes, or, well, it felt like it. Or did it? He couldn’t tell. He really, really couldn’t.

The door flung open. He could hear a similar click as he did earlier, not the same. This one almost felt inviting and concerned. Or maybe that was what Sylvie looked like, standing in the door with a schooled expression plastered on his face. Giovanni saw him gulp, himself letting out a strangled cry. That was all that he was doing today.

“Giovanni, what happened?” he was in front of him now, “Can you put pressure on them for me?”. The older man nodded, forcing his arms against the cuts and letting out a whimper at the pain that it caused. He didn’t answer the first question. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let him know.

“Do you have a Med-kit in the house?”

“N-no,”

“Shit,” that was the first time that Giovanni had heard him swear, “Okay, I’m going to be right back. Please keep the pressure on your legs, I know,” Sylvie said, recognising the grunt that Giovanni had let out, “I know that it hurts, just try, alright? Keep breathing for me,” after the man's small nod, Sylvie rushed out of the room.

Giovanni kept to the demands, time kept fleeting him. It felt as if one second had passed as Sylvie was back in the room, kneeling in front of him, putting a rather large fabric-made box beside him. “This should have what we need, okay?” he said, giving Giovanni a look that just screamed uncertainty. The noise of a zip came to Giovanni’s ears, Sylvie was fast to put on a pair of one-time use gloves, grabbing a bottle of.. what was that?

“This is going to hurt, okay? I’m going to need you to be as still as possible, can you move your hand?” he tapped on the one he meant, Giovanni complied. 

It stung. It stung bad, whatever the kid had put on there mad the pain worse than when he had initially sliced into himself. Sylvie made quick work to wipe down the area, cleaning his thigh. God, he’d have to do that with the other one. 

He then pulled out a bandage, Giovanni just stared and let him do his job. Sylvie unwrapped it slightly, let out a small “Good,” under his breath. It was just big enough to cover all of the wounds, there weren’t many and they were all grouped around the same place. The pad of the bandage covered them nicely, Sylvie then going on to wrap the longer part of it over and over again, keeping pressure while doing so. The bandage wasn’t tight, per se, but it held pressure. Giovanni assumed that was a good thing.

As Sylvie went on to repeat his actions with Giovanni’s other thigh, he let out a sigh. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“I-I,”

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I just wish that you would have tried to talk to someone first, preferably me.” the liquid almost stung twice the amount this time, “You do know that there are artery in every limb of your body, right? Not just in your neck, they are in your arms and legs too,”

“W-what are… they?”

“Major veins. Giovanni, you could have died from this. Is that what you wanted?” Sylvie didn’t sound interrogating, he sounded just the right mix of concerned and kind. 

“… No…?”

Sylvie let out a sigh. “Alright, that’s all I needed to know,” the pad went on first and then the rest of the bandage. What exactly could he tell from that? What did he mean? “I’m going to get you a therapist, alright? A creditable colleague of mine. It can’t be me due to the fact that we are friends, but I will help you through this. Call me if you need to talk, if you need a distraction. If you can’t call me, call someone else,”

“Who?” Sylvie paused for a moment.

“Mera? Indus? The blasters? Your mothers, even.”

“They’re to… close,” Sylvie tied another tight knot. “I-I can't…”

“Is there anyone you can think of?”

“… Ramsey,” he muttered under his breath.

“Who?”

“N-no one,”

“Giovanni,” the kid sent him a slight glare, “Please,”

“Fine. I-I said Ramsey. Murdoch, Ramsey Murdoch,”

“...When did you meet him?”

“When the amulet was stolen… from me,”

“Right.” Sylvie closed up his first-aid kit. “Can you come with me to get you some water?”

“Uhm… I’m not sure if I can… stand up,”

“Alright,” Sylvie stood, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyes scanned the room for a moment before seeing the knife on the ground. He wordlessly picked it up, twisting it in his hand for a moment. “Try to lie down and support your legs with what you can, I’ll be right back,”

Sooner than later Sylvie returned, closing the door for the first time that afternoon. He was holding a glass of water now, placing it on Giovanni’s nightstand. The man himself had, once again, complied with Sylvie's request, lying down. His legs were supported with the pillows that he wished were behind his head. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“… Maybe,”

“Anyone you live with?”

“No,” Sylvie sighed.

“I guess I’m staying here tonight. We could invite Molly, too.”

“A museum trio sleepover?”

“Sure,”

“Awesome,”


End file.
